A Rapidly Worsening Obsession
by SycoraxSebastian
Summary: Draco Malfoy, after Harry Potter risks his life to save him in the Room of Requirement, begins to see his rival in a new light. It is astonishing to him how thin a line there is between hate and love. If only Harry could cross the line of hate that has separated them (for far too long, Draco thinks). But will Draco and Harry be able to handle it if they do open up to each other?
1. Chapter 1

1: A Matter of a Battle of the Heart

Malfoy was screaming and holding Harry so tightly it hurt. His lungs constricted against the smoke he kept breathing in as he screamed and clutched at Potter. Potter swerved (recklessly, a part of Draco's mind told him) to escape the flames Crabbe had set on them. The orange fire swept through the cluttered jumble of magical debris in the Room of Requirement far faster than any Muggle fire ever could. Even Malfoy could not quite put his finger on what this demonic fire was called- nor could he think of how to put the damn stuff out. If his father were here-! But even Lucius Malfoy wouldn't know how to save them…

It was only thanks to Saint Potter that he and Goyle had any chance of living. Malfoy closed his eyes against the brightness of the fire and the tears that forced themselves out of him. He couldn't bear to watch the world around him burn, so he buried his face in the back of his rescuer. He felt the broomstick jump and screech through the air below him and he whimpered. The ground thundered beneath him and he tumbled off of the broomstick, pulling Potter with him. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to face the consequences of his friend's actions. Potter jumped up and away from him as soon as they hit the ground. Draco pressed his face against the cool stone floor of the hall and wept, coughing and retching, the result of both the smoke he inhaled in and (what he had a feeling was) the death of his friend.

"C-crabbe? Where's C-c-crabbe?" he stuttered, still sobbing.

"He's dead," Ron said, harshly.

Malfoy gulped back another sob and nodded. That was what he had thought happened- and what he had feared.

Potter, Granger and Weasley began to walk off, towards the end of the hallway where Draco could see flashes of green, blue, red, silver- the entire magical rainbow- and hear shouts and wails. He smiled to himself as their forms grew farther away and they got closer to danger. There was something almost endearing about the willingness of the three Gryffindors to throw themselves into harm's way on the behalf of others. Draco had never had enough courage to do something like that- he envied the senseless bravery of Potter and his friends.

A particularly loud boom sounded from the end of the hallway and the stones forming the entryway exploded out, smoke and rubble wafting out from the destruction. There was a taut moment of silence, quickly followed by a keening howl. Someone, Draco surmised, had just died. The blast had startled Draco out of his stupor and he shot up, his shoes echoing on the polished stone of the floor. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and found Crabbe's old wand. It was his now, having survived the fire that killed its master. He swallowed what little Malfoy pride he had left and ran, as fast as he could, in the opposite direction of the demolished end of the hallway.

His eyes were blurred with the remnants of his tears and his determination to get out, so he did not notice his father calling his name until he felt hands clutching at his arms. Draco, still stunned, stopped in his tracks. He tried to claw the hands off of him, as his sight cleared and he saw where his flight had carried him. He had run clear across the school, up the staircases and into alcove in front of the Gryffindor common room. He had been so frantic in his grief and terror that he had run up several flights of stairs and turned many corners without taking the slightest notice.

"Draco!" Lucius Malfoy's voice shook Draco out of his reverie (Draco had been very distracted lately). "The Dark Lord will soon notice that I have gone and when he does, he will NOT be pleased. Draco, my son, I beg you- hide yourself somewhere safe. You will not be protected by your ties to the Death Eaters and this battle is merely the beginning-"

"Father-" Draco began.

"There is no time, Draco! I will not have you die young, not even for the Dark Lord!" Draco's father hissed.

"Yes, Father. I love you," Draco said.

"You, too, son. Now, go, Draco!" With that, Lucius Malfoy Disapparated with a sharp crack and a cloud of dark smoke.

You must be able to Apparate in and out of Hogwarts now… what's next? Anarchy? Not if Voldemort has any say, I guess. Draco mused. He half-heartedly tried to Apparate away, and felt a wall slam against his body. Apparition must be an honor only real Death Eaters have. Not for the last time, Draco regretted his painful and ultimately unsuccessful foray into Voldemort's group of followers.

He sighed and began his hunt for a safe hiding place. It seemed (though Draco didn't want to admit how glad his coward's heart was of it) that he would spend the battle of Hogwarts safely tucked away.

But he had thought too soon. He heard a scream and a bang coming from the Great Hall and some crumb of a better nature that had hidden inside him, trapped underneath the greed and fear and hatred he had cultivated, clawed its way out and Draco realized that maybe, just maybe the best way to spend the battle would be to fight against Voldemort and the people who had so severely punished him and his father. He set off at an even greater speed than before, convinced that he would turn back and hide like the coward he knew he was if he didn't go quickly. He was headed for the Great Hall.

He was descending one of the many staircases when a masked Death Eater stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going, little boy?" the Death Eater growled. Draco's spirits sank. This was not a Death Eater he knew.

"Answer me, boy!" The Death Eater brandished his wand.

Draco felt like like a coward, but what use would he be against Voldemort if he was dead?

"I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco. I'm on your side!" Malfoy pleaded, lying through his teeth.

The Death Eater hesitated, and was stunned by someone invisible. Malfoy looked around, beaming, for his savior, sure that he knew who it was. He felt an unseen hand punch him in the jaw. Malfoy fell backwards, on top of the Death Eater, his mouth bleeding, utterly bemused.

"And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two faced bastard!" the invisible savior yelled.

Draco grinned in spite of himself. It was Potter, Granger and Weasley who had come to his rescue. Again. He couldn't believe his own feelings, but he fancied that his heart was possibly beginning to warm to that infuriating Potter. He decided to pay his salvation forward and he resumed his run into the thick of things.

Draco scurried down the steps, dodging spells left and right, flinging some of his own hexes when he had the chance (Draco swelled with pride as he disabled a Death Eater that was trying to curse Mrs. Weasley).

Draco spent the entire time fighting against people he had grown up emulating, people who were fighting for a cause he had grown up believing in. After what had happened to his father, a loyal and ambitious Death Eater, Draco finally understood how evil and twisted Voldemort was. His father had been loyal to a fault, and Draco himself had worked hard for the Death Eaters, smuggling them into the castle and orchestrating Dumbledore's downfall. How had their dedication been repaid? His father had been given up to Azkaban, his wand taken away (and subsequently destroyed), and now his family, formerly second only to the Dark Lord himself, were the lowest of the low . Every hex Draco cast, every Expelliarmus, every Stupefy and even Cruciatus Curse that he threw, he thought, this is for my father.

There was a sudden silence, then a lull in the fighting and a high, clear voice rang clear through the hall.

"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows to value bravery.

"Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately.

"You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for you for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

Draco realized he had been holding his breath. He let it out, along with the rest of the people in the Great Hall. He felt himself slump to the floor, utterly drained. The ground was solid, but the ceiling rippled between night and day, the enchantment keeping the indoor sky stable had been hit by so many ricocheting curses that it had been twisted past recognition. The ceiling was mottled, swirling one moment into stormy night,the next moment assuming the look of bright blue day. Draco spent far too long lost in the jumble of the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but what would happen after the hour was up. Even if Potter surrendered himself to Voldemort, Draco doubted that the Death Eaters would want to miss out on the ample opportunity for Mudblood and blood traitor annihilation. Would his parents survive the upcoming onslaught of violence? He had a sinking feeling that their loyalties were shifting (which Voldemort would not take kindly to). The Dark Lord had threatened the safety of their family several times too many. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy may not have agreed with Potter and his friends, but they were fighting against Voldemort, weren't they? Maybe his parents would defect to his side…

His side? Draco was surprised by his sudden change of heart (but he had been surprising himself a lot lately). He should have been on Potter's team all along, shouldn't he? He had offered Potter his friendship in the first year and Potter had declined it. He had been quite rude, hadn't he? But then again, so had Draco. It didn't matter anyway, since Potter was going to die tonight, if Voldemort had his way. Draco was shocked (again) that this thought caused his considerable sadness. He had spent 6 of his 7 years at Hogwarts trying to make Potter's life hell- Potter had almost killed him once! But now, as he stood to lose the Boy Who Lived, he felt an unknown stirring of premature grief, mingled with...something else, something unfamiliar and strange. If Harry Potter lived, maybe Draco would give himself time to explore and understand these new feelings, but now as death hung heavy in the air, and it seemed Potter's life was winding to a close, Malfoy shoved his emotions aside, resolving to focus doubly hard on the continuing war.

Draco drifted through the fallen and the injured, flinching as he saw so many familiar faces. He saw ex-Professor Lupin and the woman he was married to- an Auror, Draco thought, his cousin Tonks- still slumped in the crumple they were killed in. He stretched them out, and laid them flat, so that they looked like they were sleeping. Poor Potter had lost all of the living links to his parents. And so, Draco moved through the crowd, helping the wounded and straightening out the bodies of the dead. He saw, for the first time, the true effects of Voldemort's rise to power, among the dead and the mourners surrounding them. An hour passed this way, far faster than Draco thought could be called fair.

"Harry! Where is Harry?" a shrill voice screamed. Draco whipped around, seeing that the shriek had come from Hermione, standing in the entrance to the Great Hall, her bushy hair as frantic as her voice. Murmuring filled the Hall, terrified whispers crowded into Draco's ears, and joined his own fear. Malfoy thought there shouldn't be much of a question as to the whereabouts of Potter. Hadn't Voldemort just called for his presence? If he had been Potter, he would have snuck away to fight the Dark Lord on his own, too. After having lost one of his friends to his own plans, Malfoy understood why Harry wouldn't want to risk the lives of his friends in a fight that was truly between Potter and Voldemort. Or, a little part of Draco's heart said, he wanted all the glory for himself. No, he thought, Harry Potter was merely too kind for his own good, he just kept getting himself into terrible situations and then somehow (as if by magic!) surviving, virtually unscathed.

The whispers that had been rumbling around the Hall were broken into silence as Hermione sunk to the floor, weeping.

"Harry's going to get himself killed, I just know it!" Hermione wailed, her sobs trailing off into the shocked quiet of the Hall. As her cries faded away, a prickly, uncomfortable hush filled the empty spaces in the hall. Draco felt as if he and the rest of the magical creatures in the Great Hall were intruding on something very personal as Ron Weasley walked up to the heap of tears that was Hermione and helped her up with a hug and a kiss. Ron murmured something to Hermione and they swept out of the door Hermione had come in by.

The silence created by Hermione's explosive entrance tightened. After she and Weasley had left, the embarrassed quiet became the hush of a mourning vigil. Draco got the feeling that if anyone broke the silence by speaking, Harry Potter would die. The lack of noise was casting a protective spell over Potter and if the madness of sound descended, he would no longer be safe. Draco knew this was all merely magical thinking, but the idea that somehow they could all keep Potter alive was simultaneously comforting and pathetic.

Although all was quiet in the Great Hall, all was most definitely not still. There was a magnificently soundless bustle of fervent preparation. Even if their lull was keeping Potter alive, their inaction would make sure they became dead. Draco marveled at how the wizards and witches could both distract themselves by making themselves very busy and focus so completely on one thing.

Time once again passed strangely. The minutes stretched by with a slowness rivaled only by the way time moved in Professor Binns' class. The dead had been moved long before, the injured escorted to the edges. The hall had been cleared of magical debris and it looked like more of its normal self.

It was then that huge footsteps echoed throughout the cleaned up Hall. Draco recognised the heavy footfalls of Hagrid, the school gamekeeper. Draco's heart became as heavy as Hagrid's feet, for he heard sadness in the half-giant's walk. He was terrified that this intrusion on the vigil signalled the end they all feared.

"Harry… Oh, Harry," Hagrid sobbed, coming into view, with a limp form cradled in his arms.

Draco (not for the first time that night) swallowed a sob. Harry Potter, his rival, his nemesis, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, was dead. He didn't believe it, he wouldn't believe it. He had been pitting himself against Potter for so long that it seemed impossible that his competitor's life could have been snuffed out so quickly.

Draco cowered in disbelieving fear as the world around him exploded with painful spells, colors that shone of death. Draco's luck must not have been quite used up, for as he remained huddled in the corner of the Great Hall, he was not hit by a single curse. The ricocheting magic danced over Draco's head as all hell broke loose, and for someone who liked to brag of his bravery, when faced with true fear and the opportunity to fight, Draco was having a considerable amount of difficulty convincing himself to leave his safe little bubble to enter into the fray. After an argument with himself that lasted far longer than it should have, Draco had won himself over to fight against Voldemort's forces. He was going to really fight, not just cower in the corner as he had taken to do recently. As he dashed out into the newly ignited battle, Draco realised that he, unlike Harry, had no qualms against actively killing people who deserved it. He doubted that he would be sent to Azkaban for his use of the Unforgivable Curses, since half of the wizarding population seemed to be doing so as well.

Two Death Eaters (neither was familiar to him) died due to Draco's curses. He saw his aunt Bellatrix firing off spells towards Ginny Weasley, and to his horror, Bellatrix was also acting with a similar disregard for the unforgivability of the Unforgivable Curses, and one of her Killing Curses flew terrifyingly close to Potter's beloved Ginny Weasley. Draco knew Potter was dead, but something made him desperate to protect someone who was so close to the late Potter. It was the least he, or anyone, could do. Seized by his sudden desire to save Ginny, Draco dashed off towards her. He was too far away to help and there was no one near enough to stop Bellatrix!

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" screamed Mrs. Weasley, throwing herself across her daughter, green fire flaming from her wand and hitting Bellatrix square in the chest. Draco looked on as his aunt cackled in (what she supposed was) victory, he saw her eyes widen in shock and he turned away as his mother's sister and Voldemort's right hand fell to the spell of a Weasley.

Voldemort, drawn by 's shriek and incensed by Bellatrix's death, raised his wand and leveled it at . was about to pay the ultimate price for her motherly love.

"PROTEGO!" a familiar voice echoed through the hall as Voldemort's curse bounced harmlessly off of a shield cast by… Potter? The Boy Who Lived had conquered death again.

"Potter!" Malfoy exclaimed in joy. His shout was echoed all over the Great Hall by witches and wizards who had just been bolstered by the reappearance of their rallying point. Draco wasn't quite ready to admit it, but knowing that Harry had survived stirred the feeling he had hidden deep inside himself. He now knew he would have to confront those emotions. He had to talk to Potter about… a lot of things. He might even bring up the possibility of friendship (something Potter had rudely vetoed 7 years ago), but he felt that his past actions might prejudice Potter against him and any kind of friendship they could form. Perhaps, if he proved to Potter that he had changed. Had he changed? Yes, Malfoy decided. He hadn't thought such strong, deep running streams of hatred could be diverted into something absolutely opposite- but they had. Oh, dear. This was going to be hard to explain to Father… Draco was shaken out of another reverie as the sounds of relief and joy at Harry's survival were stifled all around him.

"I don't want anyone else to try to help," Potter's words soared through the Hall, clearer and calmer than Voldemort's recent proclamation. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

Silly Potter, selfless as ever, and still so full of himself- but that was part of his allure, wasn't it? Malfoy knew that Harry knew there many, many people in this Hall (himself included, his heart begrudgingly whispered) who would gladly die to save Harry Potter until they were all dead and Harry was the only one left. No no one would ever do anything like that for Malfoy, except, perhaps, his mother. Just like Potter's mother had saved him 16 years ago.

"Potter doesn't mean that," Voldemort hissed. "That isn't how he works. Who are you going to use as a shield this time?"

That was the thing about Potter, Draco thought, he never asked for people to lay down their lives for him. People just did. There was something so compellingly pure (a quality that was often in practice infuriating) about Potter, one couldn't help but try to save him. There weren't enough truly good people in the world- and Draco would have been fooling himself if he counted himself among them.

As Voldemort and Potter verbally sparred, Malfoy looked around the Hall at the wizards, witches and magical creatures quietly cleaning up the new magical debris. His eyes searched the bodies on the ground for the ice blond of his parents' hair and could not find them. He breathed a sigh of relief and then forced himself to remember that just because he could not see them among the dead didn't mean that they were alive. He could be an orphan, just like Potter, and not even know it. It was no use looking for their faces among the living Death Eaters, since they were all still masked. If his father and mother were dead… what would he do?

He would find them- or their corpses- when Voldemort was defeated once and for all. It wasn't "if Voldemort was defeated" any more, it didn't seem like there was any doubt about whether or not Harry could kill Voldemort. He had escaped death countless time- more than the Dark Lord himself and often without the soul ripping sacrifices Voldemort had made. He had challenged Voldemort this final time and emerged not only alive, but triumphant. Draco looked up at Potter and was astounded by the tranquil power Harry exuded. Voldemort, by contrast almost vibrated with a high pitched fury. It was quite obvious that Voldemort's firm grasp on absolute power was not only slowly slipping, but it had been calmly wrenched from his hands by Harry Potter. Something, Draco felt, had changed within Potter. Potter had always been strong, seething with otherworldly potential, but he had never been able to fully act on that potential. Potter hadn't ever seemed very comfortable in his skin, in his inherited magic. He had always been reluctant to retaliate with extreme magic- and even when he did use magic to hurt (Malfoy has on long slash of a scar across his chest from a run in he had with Potter in the bathroom) it seemed like an accident. Now, it was obviously not the case. Potter was serene in his mastery of the formerly fearsome Dark Lord.

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Draco had been the master of the most feared and coveted wand in the wizarding world for months and he had never known. And somehow perfect, pure, protection deserving Potter had figured it out in time to snatch the glory from him. That was always what happened, wasn't it? Malfoy had tried so hard to be the best at so many things, but Potter was consistently was smarter, better liked, more successful than Draco, without visibly trying to be better. Draco hated Harry for his incredible good luck. He envied him for his excess of friends. But hatred and love are intertwined, so twisted together that the slightest touch can tip the scales. Draco had focused so long on how much he absolutely hated Harry Potter, that his hatred had turned into obsession and it was now dangling dangerously close into the territory of love.

"But what does it matter?" Voldemort said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel skill alone… and after I have killed you. I can attend to Draco Malfoy…"

Any jealous feelings Draco had towards Harry and his posession of the Elder Wand evaporated in an instant. He knew what it felt like to have his life threatened by Voldemort. He didn't want to have to worry about that again. A trickle of pity rushed into Draco's muddled feelings towards Potter.

"But you're too late," said Potter. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him."

Bloody hell. Draco had not thought much of the incident at his home, he had just written it off as another time when Potter had gotten his way. Once again, he had lost to Potter.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" continued Harry, his whisper carrying through the expectant silence. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both Potter's and Voldemort's faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's face was suddenly a flaming blur and Potter was illuminated, god-like, the long awaited savior. Draco winced as he heard the high shriek that was Voldemort's voice, and the bellow that burst out of Harry Potter as he brandished what Draco know knew used to be his own wand.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Lord Voldemort screamed. At the same time, magic leaped across the void between the Chosen One and the Dark Lord and Potter countered his own favorite spell.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" the superior power of the Elder Wand caused Voldemort's Killing Curse to glance off of Potter to strike the Dark Lord. The backlash from the connection of the two wands thrust Harry backwards, he stumbled and fell and Draco resisted the strange urge to run to help him. Potter was fine and Voldemort was dead. There was no possibility that he could have survived that blow. As Potter had said, he had no more fall backs, no fail safes.

The force of the magical blow had also thrown Voldemort back- but his momentum carried him backwards and up into the air where he exploded in green particles of ash. The Killing Curse, which normally killed without leaving so much as a mark, had, when Voldemort's own evil intent had been turned on himself, morphed into something more. The vile inhumanity that had been stewing inside Voldemort, the evil deeds he did without a thought of remorse had compressed themselves into his innards for far too long. The act of being killed had released all of his pent up evil and Draco couldn't help thinking that the exploding Voldemort looked like a show of particularly menacing fireworks. It brought to mind the parting gift the Weasley twins had left when they flew away from Hogwarts two years ago (it felt like ages).

The Great Hall erupted in cheers as the witches and wizards realized that Voldemort was well and truly dead. There would be time to mourn the multitudes who had perished later, when reality hit them squarely in the stomach- but now, those who were on the winning side would celebrate their victory and those who were not would either be punished; or they'd have to figure out what to do next. Despite his anti-Death Eater actions during the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco knew he and his family would be judged based on their past 7 years of mistaken animosity towards Potter.

"Draco! Draco!" Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy ran towards their son, the black Death Eater robes they were wearing flapping behind them. They must have ripped their masks off the minute Potter had risen and begun searching for Draco, as Narcissa later told him.

"Mother! Father!" Draco felt himself become enfolded within his parents' arms. A sigh of relief escaped him; his parents were alive, everything would be alright, eventually.

"Oh, Draco darling, I don't know what we would have done if you had died. But Potter told me- he told me outside, when when I was supposed to be checking that Voldemort had really killed him- that you were still alive. I lied to Voldemort and saved Harry Potter!" Narcissa's voice cracked with a strange pride.

"Mother, you turned against Voldemort?" Draco couldn't hide the hint of joy as he realized that his parents may have already begun their own transformation from Death Eaters to something a little more sympathetic.

Draco's father led his wife and son to a table at the opposite end of the Hall, near a window that Bellatrix had shattered in a fit of destructiveness. They huddled alone at the table, all three Malfoys feeling out of place (an unusual feeling for the high and mighty pureblood family) among the relieved and victorious witches and wizards. After they had sat down, with Draco facing Narcissa and Lucius, who had their backs to the rest of the Hall, Draco searched the crowds for Potter. He spotted him, cringing among a group of well wishers.

"Potter is never going to recover from that massive swollen head," Draco snarked.

"And you will never stop talking about him now," Lucius drawled.

Draco blushed- he was so pale there was no way to hide it.

"Bellatrix got herself killed by a Weasley. I'm sure that made Voldemort angrier than the fact that she died," Lucius muttered.

"My sister is dead and I would be greatly obliged if you would be respectful to her memory. I know you never liked her, but please, darling, for my sake, try a little harder." Draco's mother took his father's hands into hers. Draco turned away from his affectionate parents and was struck by the sight of Potter leaving the Hall. He jumped up without thinking. He wanted to apologize to Potter for everything, or at least thank him for saving him.

"Draco!" he dimly heard his mother call to him, but the urge to follow Potter was overpoweringly strong.

"Leave him be, Narcissa. I'm sure he has a lot to think about. Things are about to change for all of us.

"The reason I show such little remorse for your dear sister's death is that I cannot help but be relieved that you are safe."

Draco was walking away as quickly as he could, but he could still hear his parents' conversation.

"Oh, Lucius," Narcissa murmured. Draco sped up. Harry was getting away!

Draco rushed out of the Hall and turned the corner. Harry had disappeared. He was using his Invisibility Cloak, Draco was sure. He followed the empty space in the crowd. Potter, for all his bravery and magical prowess, was often predictable and thus oblivious about his predictability. He stayed several steps behind Potter, who was walking with Granger and Weasley, as usual. He didn't want it to seem obvious that he was following the Golden Trio. He doubted that his presence would be taken to kindly. But why should they object to him wandering the halls of his own school? He had just as much right to be there as they had, if not more! After all, he hadn't run away from the school after Dumbledore was killed, and they, everyone's favorite, the shiniest, most beloved Golden Trio had.

Draco stayed in the shadows as he trailed the invisible Harry and the very visible Hermione and Ron. It was merely an assumption that Potter was with his two best friends, but it was a strange occurrence indeed when he was farther than a stone's throw from Weasley and Granger. As he dogged the steps of his prey, Draco concluded that he was torn when it came to what, exactly, he wanted to say to Potter. He knew that he had to at least thank him for rescuing him from the fire in the Room of Requirement, and that he really should apologize to him for his 7 years of torment, but now that he was literally on the path to remorse and redemption, he was beginning to doubt whether there was a point in apologizing. The pride that came naturally with being a Malfoy had returned, after having taken a brief vacation during the Battle, it was now trying to stop him from talking to Potter. Draco wanted to see him, but perhaps there could be a way for them to restart on a positive note without Draco having to swallow his pride. When a Malfoy had to put away his pride, it was usually swallowed with the cheerful addition of poison. The Malfoys were a terrifically stubborn and haughty family.

Potter, Granger and Weasley stopped abruptly at the entrance to the Headmaster's office and Draco almost tripped over him own feet. The gargoyle that had originally stood guard at the base of the spiral stairs that led up to the office had been knocked over in the melee and was now slumped in a drunken manner against the wall of the hallway. The last time Draco had been here had been right before Dumbledore had died. After that, he had avoided the area like the plague, despite the fact that Snape, a family friend, had been appointed Headmaster upon Dumbledore's passing. It wouldn't have been fair for Draco to say that he himself had killed him, since the dirty work had been done by Snape. Harry had said before that he, Draco Malfoy, had defeated Dumbledore, the greatest wizard ever, thought to be invincible by everyone, even the Dark Lord. Voldemort had needed Draco, because he couldn't overpower Dumbledore on his own. And now, even the heroic and slightly egotistical Potter couldn't claim to have defeated Voldemort singlehandedly. No one had helped Draco with Dumbledore. He wouldn't let them, even when they tried. Even in the beginning, Potter had been saved from certain death at the hands of Voldemort by the sacrifice of his mother. No matter how much he protested, his journey to success could not have lasted so long if he hadn't been helped on the way by so many people. If Voldemort had won, if Malfoy hadn't been born on the wrong side, he was sure he would be celebrated with as much acclaim as Potter. No. Draco may have felt this way for a long time, but it wouldn't help him get very far in the Wizarding World if if he resented its savior. Besides, he was here to thank Potter for saving his life, not accuse him of stealing his rightful glory. And he was just thanking Potter. It didn't mean he liked him.

There wasn't anything inherently bad about Potter, though. That was the problem with it. Draco had tried his hardest to hate Potter over his seven years at Hogwarts, but he couldn't help putting himself in Potter's shoes. They were so similar, Draco thought, even though they had always been on opposite sides of the conflict. They had both been born with expectations already piling up around them. They were both pawns of their various factions. Draco's father had encouraged him to first befriend the Boy Who Lived, but once it had become obvious that Potter was not going to be the next Voldemort (initially, they had thought that the boy would have to be a terribly Dark wizard to have defeated Voldemort at such a young age), he had heaped on rewards and praise if Draco bested Potter in anything at school. In his heart of hearts, Draco knew that his time at Hogwarts may have been easier if he had become friends with Potter, but his pride was injured every time the muddy blooded boy somehow (often through the help of others) managed to emerge with the upper hand. It hadn't taken much persuading for Malfoy to cultivate an animosity towards Potter.

As Draco was lost in thought, hidden behind a pillar near the entrance to the Head Master's office, Ron and Hermione had exited the office, several steps ahead of Harry. Potter was just emerging, minus his invisibility cloak, when Draco awoke from his trance. He furtively glanced about the corridor- Granger and Weasley were nowhere in sight.

"Potter!" he hissed, coming out from behind the pillar.

"Wha-? Malfoy, what do you want?" Potter asked. The exhaustion and the traces of tears just recently dried was evident in his husky voice.

Draco walked closer to Harry, feeling stranger with every step.

"Potter- I just wanted to… thank you… for saving my life to tonight," Malfoy stuttered, feeling ridiculous, standing in the hallway with the hated Potter. He hadn't insulted him yet and it felt weird.

"Twice," was Potter's reply.

"What?" Malfoy asked.

"We saved your life twice, Malfoy," Harry responded wearily.

"Yes, Potter, you did. What's it to you?" Draco snapped, forgetting why he was there.

"Nothing. It means nothing. I should be the one thanking you- without you I would never have been able to master the Elder Wand to defeat Voldemort-" Potter said.

"There! The great Harry Potter needed Draco Malfoy's help to defeat the Dark Lord!" Draco crowed, his pride taking the reins.

"Why am I still listening to your nonsense? My friends are waiting- I died- almost died today, several times-" Potter said, his voice rising in pitch with each word. He began to stalk away and Draco was suddenly struck by how much he liked Potter. He (forgetting all of the anger he had just felt) ran after the retreating man. He grabbed his arm and Harry jumped.

"Harry… I'm sorry," Draco felt Harry relax in his grip. "I really meant it, when I thanked you. You're not too bad for… well, you."

"Well, uh, Malfoy. You're not entirely a lost cause yourself," Harry surprisedly stammered.

Draco, drunk off of lack of sleep and the thrill of not dying, leaned down and kissed Harry Potter straight on the lips. Potter jumped, but Draco was faster. He ran away, down the corridor, his heart pounding, the soft feel of Harry Potter's mouth was still fresh on his lips. Oh, god.


	2. Chapter 2

2: Dreaming in Parseltongue, or the Cold Awakening

After the soul-draining events of the day, Harry was in no mood for more surprises. He was sure he had used up his store of startlement- until, however, he was accosted (that was the only word for it) by Malfoy in the hallway. Harry, whether he liked it or not, was used to people treating him strangely because he was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the Golden Savior of the Wizarding World. He hadn't expected anything like what Malfoy had done, though. People acted weirdly towards him, yeah, but Malfoy? His relatively harmless hatred was actually refreshing. Malfoy despised him, for good reason. And he wasn't too keen on the ferret-faced bastard, either. True, he had been instrumental in Harry's defeat of Voldemort, but not because Malfoy was trying to be helpful. Harry had saved Malfoy's life that night because, while he disliked Malfoy's family and his principles, he saw a bit of himself in the other boy. That was all.

Harry didn't like how his fingers kept straying to touch his mouth- where Malfoy had _kissed _him- how he tried to hold the sensation in his hands, like he didn't want to lose it. He didn't want to dwell on something as Malfoy's kiss-attack! He had someone else he loved, desperately, someone whose love had saved him in the end. If he loved Ginny so strongly, so intensely, so passionately, why were so many images of Draco flitting through his mind unbidden? The rare moments when Malfoy's trademark smirk transitioned to a genuine smile, how he had watched Malfoy stalk through the halls in his 6th year, when no one believed that Malfoy was plotting something except Harry, those times played through his mind with increasing intensity. If Harry disregarded Draco, if he hated him so much, why was he still standing alone in the hallway outside the office of the Headmaster (now Headmistress, he corrected himself) wishing Draco hadn't run away so that he could merely ask him _why_.

Harry sank to the ground, his knees creaking in a way that belied his seventeen years. He cursed himself for his curiosity and sentimentality, imagining that maybe Draco had changed. Maybe the fact that Harry had saved his life would make him start over- or at least, rethink his values. Or maybe he was doing that already.

"Stop it!" Harry hissed to himself, holding his head in his hands to stop the onslaught of uncomfortable thoughts brought on by, and featuring Draco Malfoy. The little twerp had somehow managed to bother him still. He was seventeen, more than mature enough and yet his juvenile feud with Malfoy continued. At least in his mind, it continued. Obviously Draco had more than just petty fighting on his mind… He had done it again, like he always did. He had let Malfoy get under his skin, an irritation for all the wrong reasons.

The stress of the day- the loss, the terror, the utter bleakness of accepting death and the sudden joy and bitterness of being thrust back into the realm of the living- descended upon Harry's heart and he had to abruptly choke back a sob. This had nothing to do with Draco- it was simply the by-product of this rollercoaster of a day.

"Harry?" Ginny's soft voice was both a comfort and punishment. Harry was glad to see her- but seeing her reminded him of his imagined infidelity with Malfoy- but it wasn't really imagined, was it?

She knelt down to face him and gently kissed him on the lips. Lips Malfoy had kissed. Could she taste Draco on him? Could she tell that that he'd locked lips with someone who wasn't her, someone whose father was responsible for the torture she went through during her first year at Hogwarts? He pulled away, desperate to stop his racing thoughts. He felt dirty.

"You okay?" Ginny asked. Her eyes were kind and Harry wanted to drown in them. He was struck by an intense wave of guilt, which served just as well to drown him. He laughed it off, though, forcing back the feeling of suffocation. He wasn't up to engaging in any long, angsty, soul searching conversations with anyone, especially not Ginny. He just wanted to sleep. And cry. But he'd have to do that later.

"I'm as good as I can be after a day like today…" he finally replied, not really making concentrated eye contact with Ginny's kind eyes.

"I know. It wasn't a very fair question, was it?" Ginny laughed, too, in part to fill the emptiness, to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, and in part because the only other option was to cry. Her laugh was not much more cheerful than tears, though. It was a pained, weary laugh that didn't belong in the throat of a sixteen year old. They had all grown up far too quickly.

"You asked it, you must want to know! Right now, I'm just too tired to really feel anything more than exhaustion. I'm sure tomorrow, I'll… hurt. God, what I wouldn't give for a piece of chocolate. I feel like I've just been hit by a party of dementors," Harry sighed, leaning into the comforting presence of Ginny Weasley.

"Chocolate? Oh, goodness, Harry, you do know that Lupin… and Tonks…?" Ginny couldn't seem to form the sentences that would describe what Lupin and Tonks were. To say the word "dead" out loud made it real. It made it final and irreversible.

"Yeah. I know. I saw," That was all he could say. There was nothing more to it- he knew, in the back of his mind, just how many people- wizards, Muggles and everything in between- had died during Voldemort's attempted ascent to power. The sheer volume of lives lost for one man's petty grudge and insatiable ambition never failed to sadden Harry, but he just couldn't face it right now.

More people than just him had lost loved ones to Voldemort's forces. He decided he'd rather mourn the faceless multitudes than think of the living, breathing people he loved- who had loved him- who were no longer living and could only love him from the beyond. Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Dumbledore, Sirius, Lily, James, Dobby, Cedric, Moody, too many to count, more than enough for it to hurt, physically, even when he wasn't remotely thinking of death.

"Harry? Are you sure you're alright? You seem a little out of it," Ginny placed her hand on Harry's arm in an effort to connect with the broken boy who sat before her. Something had had changed within Harry, something that had nothing to do with Voldemort. Ginny could tell that something was different, but she couldn't quite pinpoint it. Besides, she wasn't equipped to deal with the spacey, lost Harry who was with her now. Angry Harry she understood- Angry Harry she could connect to- it meant that there was something there.

It took Harry a moment to respond to Ginny's well-meaning question, but when he did, after the faces of the dead he wanted to forget cleared from his eyes, he lashed out, flinging her hand off of his arm and resisting the urge to run away.

"No! I'm not okay, I'm not alright! What do you want me to say? Everyone is injured or dead and it's all my fault! I was too late to save anyone!"He was suddenly repulsed by Ginny's presence, and he was tired of her repetitive and insensitive questions.

"I'm sorry for caring, Harry! I just… you're acting like some kind of injured animal and I wish you would just calm down. I know you're upset, but just understand, it's over, Harry. We won. He's dead," Ginny was still kneeling in front of him, looking hurt, and unconsciously cringing away from him.

"I'm sorry…" he hung his head in shame. Ginny was right, really. "It's just that, well, I'm tired, I feel dead, and I've been sitting on these stones for far too long," Harry stood up at that, his knees once again protesting at the movement.

"I'm sorry, too, Harry. Sometimes I forget what you've had to do. The only reason I came over, at least in the first place, was to tell you that the Gryffindor dorm is still and there is room for you to sleep there, if you'd like to," Ginny stood, too, waiting for him, but semi-impatiently straining towards the opposite end of the hallway and thus the exit. She was probably just as tired as he was, Harry realized.

"Oh, thanks. Sure. Lead the way, Miss Weasley," Harry said. He had to smile, in spite of himself, at Ginny's response to being called "Miss Weasley" and at her joy at his agreement to go with her to the Gryffindor dorms. It had been a year since he had slept in his house's dorm and he missed it. Ginny obviously missed knowing he was there, too, because her tight expression loosened and lightened into a relieved grin. She took his hand, their fingers comfortably intertwining.

"Good move, Potter. Come on, then," she hurried along the length of the hall, leading Harry to the dorms as if he'd never been there before. In a way, he was glad to be following her, because he was too distracted by her use of Malfoy's favorite moniker for him. No one but Draco called him _only_ Potter, and it felt like Ginny was stealing something that was very much Draco's. It wasn't as if Draco had a monopoly on the usage of the name Potter- and if Harry hated Draco so much, why did it angry him so greatly to hear Ginny using Draco's name for him, with a distinctly Draco-esque inflection? Harry decided that it was only because it was disgusting to be reminded of ferret-face when his girlfriend spoke to him. Stupid Malfoy! Harry wished he would just stop and get out of his head!

"Harry! We're here!" Ginny seemed mildly surprised at how little Harry had been paying attention. After attending Hogwarts for six years (he couldn't call it seven), Harry's body had muscle-memorized the routes from various places in the school to the Gryffindor dorms and common room. Even the frequently changing staircases weren't enough to keep Harry on his toes. Besides he had wandered around Hogwarts in the dark enough times to be able to walk the school blindfolded , and now was no exception.

"Umm, thanks, Ginny. Oh, I don't know the password…" the latter half of the sentence was directed at the Fat Lady's portrait, which was somehow still miraculously intact.

"It doesn't matter for you, Harry Potter, no password is necessary. Thank you for saving our home."

This had never happened before, but Harry was too tired to question his good fortune.

"You're welcome," he yawned.

"Come along, Golden Boy," Ginny ushered him towards a large couch in the common room.

"No bed?" Harry asked, sleepily. The plush red couch looked so damn inviting, but he was suddenly so tired that he didn't want to have to move another inch to reach it.

"No bed for boys who don't come to school, not even for boys who save the world," Ginny responded playfully. She laughed, a much closer approximation of a real laugh now that the danger had passed.

"Oh," Harry said, trying not to sound too disappointed. It wasn't like he was trying to get her to invite him into _her_ bed. Okay, maybe he was, a little. And it wasn't as if the couch wasn't good enough for him- it was certainly better than his old cupboard. All in all, though, he would have greatly preferred Ginny's bed. He staggered towards the couch and flopped onto it, feeling the weight of standing being lifted off of his shoulders as he sank into the cushy couch.

"G'night, Ginny," he murmured, curling up into the couch.

"Good night, Harry," she whispered, bringing over a blanket that Harry hadn't seen her holding before. God, that girl was fast. Or sneaky. Or Harry was just too tired to be paying much attention.

Ginny tucked him in, in a motherly way that he had only ever before experienced from Mrs. Weasley. Leaning over him, with her red hair hanging in her face, her eyes so full of serene love that he felt like he would drown in it, her fingers delicate as she pulled the blanket up to his chin, Harry was reminded of the photos and memories he'd seen of his mother. Lily and Ginny were very similar, physically and in a shared energy that Harry had never noticed before. He was disgusted with himself for not realizing it earlier, this Oedipus Complex he'd unwittingly developed.

Maybe it was just the shocking new possibility of Malfoy, maybe it was just the upsetting events of the life-altering day playing with his mind and warping his thoughts, but Harry didn't love Ginny in the same way anymore. His eyes had just been been opened to a few coincidences that made him feel creepy in his affection for Ginny and it didn't seem right to continue to date a girl just because she reminded Harry of his dead mother. He still loved her, but as a sister, as a family member… not like… that. He had, in the terror and commotion of the last few months, confused an obsessive crush for the real thing. He wasn't really sure of what led to this reversal of emotion, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that this change was not the work of Draco Malfoy. His realization was not affected in any way by Draco. No. He was not second-guessing his love for Ginny because he was falling in love with Draco Malfoy. That wasn't the case...was it?

No. He hated, loathed, despised, abhorred every pale, pointy, blonde, gray eyed inch of Draco Malfoy. He was lying there, in the dark, on the couch, alone, making a list of all of the reasons why he irrefutably hated Malfoy when sleep came up behind him and whacked him on the head with a sand bag. He was out cold.

It would have been nice for Harry, now that Voldemort was dead, not to be plagued by the nightmares that consistently returned when Harry was asleep. He deserved a night of rest undisturbed by dreams, but Harry was a person who rarely got what he deserved. Dreams and nightmares always played Quidditch through his mind and his slumber was always hit by Bludgers and tonight was no exception.

Tonight's dream, although, seemed to star a few new people. Draco Malfoy had never featured prominently in Harry's nightmares until now.

Harry dreamed that Ginny had been possessed by Voldemort again and had been taken down to the Chamber of Secrets. He raced down to save her, but this time he was far, far too late. By the time he got down to the Chamber, she had already died. As he got closer to her contrarily peaceful body, her features began to shift and she morphed into Draco Malfoy. He watched in languid horror as three snakes- silver, green and black- slithered, one from each eye socket and one from his mouth, out of Draco's body. Their tongues flickered in and out of their mouths as they tasted the air, smelling Harry out. Their heads torqued towards Harry and the whispers began.

"_You should have stayed dead when you had the chance, Potter. Little boy, how dare you try to destroy the Dark Lord? You have upset the balance and you will pay."_

Harry tried to run away, to scream, to cry, something, anything that would have been an even mildly appropriate response to the sight in front of him that filled him with an inexplicable fear and repulsion. He tried to move, but he couldn't. He looked down and found that Draco's hands had clamped around his wrists- his grip was as unyielding as iron and as cold as ice.

_"__You will pay,"_ the snakes hissed again. The whir of their voices overlapped, some fast, some slow, creating a claustrophobic sensation that made Harry feel like his skull was too small, his mind too tight, to contain the sinuous murmurs of the snakes.

Harry tried to drown out the snakes' venomous utterances, but he couldn't make a sound because he was gagged again (Wormtail grinned at him as he sliced his arm, Cedric's body was slumped in the background. This was a dream, that was memory, Harry told himself,), tied down by the snakes, who had crawled closer, too close, to him. Draco sat up, his eye sockets empty and gaping, his shining grey eyes, shining no more.

"You have forgotten how to love, Potter. You used up all your love on Hogwarts, on other people. You have forgotten to love yourself and no one has taught you how. You will never be happy, or free until you learn. Until you find someone to teach you what you have neglected to grasp," Draco's characteristically mocking tone sounded so strange when wrapped around such sympathetic words.

Suddenly, the snakes metamorphosed into Cho, Cedric, and Ginny, slipping and sliding off of Harry to surround him on all sides. He was free to move now, but he was still rooted to the spot. The three snake-people looked up at him and Harry saw that they, too, had no eyes, but they opened their mouths and cackled high, clear laughs. A laugh worthy of Voldemort.

"_Let us love you, Harry Potter,_" The Parseltongue of the snakes made Harry's eyes water, with how abnormal it sounded coming from the lips of his classmates. They leaned closer into him, he could feel their hot breath on his cheeks. Their eyeless faces grimaced, and the holes where their eyes should have been stared into his soul. Harry took a deep breath and found that he was able to scream.

"Harry! Harry! Wake up! Are you alright?" Hands were shaking him awake- whose hands? Harry blinked blearily into the eyes of Hermione Granger. He thought they were Hermione's. He couldn't be sure, he didn't have his glasses on.

"Hermione?" He grumbled.

"Harry- you were screaming. You okay, mate? Not… not Voldemort again?" Ron asked, hesitating on the last question, knowing he was treading on slightly delicate territory. He came up behind Hermione and threw his arm around her in a way that was equal parts possessive and casually comforting.

"No. It was just a bad dream. I'm fine." Harry said, lying. Of course he wasn't even remotely okay. Given all that had happened over the past sixteen years and the fatal climax of yesterday, he'd have to be heartless not to be affected by it all. Ron probably wasn't doing that well, either, he had lost a brother. All the others wanted, he supposed, was validation that he was functioning and on the long road to being alright. If the Savior of the Wizarding World could defeat Voldemort and pop up to his feet, then they could recover, too. It just got tiresome, and painful to be reminded of all of the reasons why he was not alright (and wouldn't be, for some time), every time someone checked to see if he was. He was being too hard on his friends, he thought. They were all suffering. They didn't want to suffer alone, and he did.

"It probably won't be the last nightmare, either, sad to say," Hermione added, sitting down next to Harry (who had, by this time, sat up) on the couch and was gesturing for Ron to join her. "Harry's experienced enough hardship to fill a lifetime of bad dreams."

"Bloody hell, could that be any bleaker? Sometimes I forget how cynical you can be, 'Mione," Ron laughed.

"Not cynical, Ronald, just realistic, " she corrected, matter-of-factly.

"And there's a difference?" Ron asked.

"Of course there is!" Hermione began, mock offended.

"I know, you silly goose! You think I haven't picked up anything from hanging around you? Oh! Are you hungry, Harry? 'Cause I'm hungry. I'm so hungry, I could eat Voldemort's bloody snake," Ron lost all semblance of tact once food entered the equation.

"Don't joke about that!" Hermione squawked.

"'Mione, calm down! It's fine!" Harry said, attempting to smooth her ruffled feathers. He had been sitting, passively, enjoying the regularness of the comfortable bickering between his two best friends. But he _was _quite hungry, now that Ron mentioned it. "I'm starving, too, Ron. I'd eat Nagini, but there is that awkward matter of her being one of Voldemort's horcruxes. I bet that whatever he called a soul would taste pretty damn nasty."

Ron laughed in earnest at that and Harry was pleased to see that Hermione was able to crack a smile.

"Great! I wonder what there is to eat…?" Ron trailed off, imagining all of the delicious foods they had not been able to eat on their extended (ridiculously long, really) camping trip.

"Are they really going to serve breakfast? In the Great Hall?" Harry asked. The words "after everything?" were unspoken. Surely, even Hogwarts would pause for a day, due to the culmination of a war?

"Of course they are! It'd take way more than Voldemort to stop the great beast that's Hogwarts- besides, the house elves make the food anyway… why waste a good meal? Come on!" Ron got up and strode purposefully to the door. He was a man on a mission, ready to drown his sorrows in a hearty breakfast.

"Those poor elves…" Hermione muttered, "You coming, Harry?" Hermione began to follow Ron out, but she stopped in the door to wait for Harry to come along.

"Yeah, I'm on my way. Where's Ginny?" He didn't really want to see his girlfriend yet, but he couldn't avoid her, either.

"She's already downstairs, eating. Why?" Hermione asked.

"Because she's my girlfriend? Because I want to see her? Nothing special…" With that, Harry got up and walked to the Great Hall with his friends.

The large halls of Hogwarts had somehow changed overnight. Now, as he walked through them, he felt too big for the formerly spacious arches. It was as if he'd outgrown his beloved school. In a way, he had. he wasn't really a student there- hadn't been for a year- but he felt strangely out of place, wandering the halls with other current students. They all seemed so young and innocent. They couldn't be, though. It was just Harry's imagination. They, too, had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. They, too, had been punished for their resistance towards Voldemort. And like him, some of them had died. They just hadn't been as lucky as he had been. He shouldn't look down on them- he didn't- he just felt like he no longer belonged in their ranks.

He was surprised by the cleanliness and order he encountered in the Great Hall- everything seemed as it had been, before the Battle, before the end of the war. At first glance, at least, everything seemed the same. Except, it wasn't, Harry realized, looking more closely. The tables were no longer separated by house. Kids in Slytherin green sat side by side with students in Gryffindor red, who sat next to Ravenclaws, who were cheerfully bickering with Hufflepuffs.

"What happened?" Ron breathed.

"I think they all just realized how petty House rivalries and distinctions are, in the face of great tragedy," Hermione explained. Her words were thoughtful, but Harry could tell that she was a bit shocked, too.

"Why did it take so long?" Harry asked.

"The better question, mate, is where do we sit?" Ron countered, still standing in the entryway to the Hall.

"Wherever we like!" Harry laughed, leading his friends to an empty spot at a table near them.

As they sat down, Harry couldn't help himself, he scanned the Great Hall, looking for Malfoy. It was so he could avoid running into him, he told himself, not for any reason. Is he ran into him, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to not blurt out the fact that Draco had played an eerily large part in his nightmares. The Slytherin was sitting only one table away and he caught Harry's eye as he tried to inconspicuously look for him. Harry wouldn't have known the word subtlety if it sneaked up on him and politely tapped his shoulder. Or if it entirely abandoned it's meaning and slapped him across the face. No, Harry wouldn't have understood, or even noticed it then. Draco winked at Harry, very aware of Harry's searching glances. He winked at him. Draco Malfoy winked at him, he winked at him, that insufferable, smug prat winked at him like they had some sort of secret to share. That was the thing, though- they did have a secret to share. Harry didn't like being connected to Draco in such an intimate way, but he couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to be so close to Draco again, to look in those piercingly mocking silver eyes, to make Draco's sleek blonde hair as messy as his always was… Harry shook himself to dislodge his traitorous thoughts. Where were these thoughts coming from?

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron looked concerned as Harry sat there, blankly staring into the distance. "You looking for someone?"

"Huh?" All thoughts of Draco slid from his mind as he looked at Ron's worried face. He was glad the entirely inappropriate images of Draco were gone- thinking anything about Malfoy made him very uncomfortable. "Yeah- no. Just distracted."

"That's because you're hungry! Eat up!" Ron shoved a heaping plate of toast at Harry, who smiled weakly and took it.

"Thanks," Harry said. Perhaps Ron had a point.

"Not every problem can be solved with food, Ron!" Hermione snapped, though there was laughter in her voice.

"It's a good start, at least," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes.

Harry tried to focus on his food, but his thoughts kept straying to Ginny, and then to what her reaction to Malfoy's kiss attack would be like, and then to Malfoy, and then to the fact that maybe he wouldn't be averse to the idea of Draco attacking him again in the same way… Harry almost choked on his toast at this thought, he was so surprised and aghast that his mind would even go there. Why was he suddenly so obsessed with Malfoy? Well, he'd always been a bit obsessed with Malfoy- but it was all purely in the name of their rivalry, right? Did Draco have some sort of love potion on his lips?

He wasn't paying attention to where he was looking, as he blindly ate his dry toast, and his gaze found its way to Draco again. He didn't understand it, how enraptured he was with Draco. It made him unspeakably angry- he wanted to hex Draco, to punch him- anything to break the spell. He needed to go for a walk to clear his head. A sick, self-punishing part of him hoped Malfoy would follow him so Harry could enact his revenge. Or maybe Draco would leave before Harry got up so he could follow him… and… and what? What could he do to Draco? What did he want to do to Draco? He didn't want to think about that.

"I'm going to go down to the lake… I need to take a walk," Harry told Hermione and Ron.

"You want us to come?" Ron asked, looking longingly at the still packed full plate in front of him.

"No, I need to be alone," Harry said, smiling at Ron's bottomless pit of hunger and how it so frequently governed his actions.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? You- you've barely touched your food!" Hermione reprimanded.

"I'm not very hungry, but thank you, Mother Hen. Besides, I just need to think. Alone." Hermione, at this, smiled at Ron and squeezed his hand. Harry rose from the table and proceeded to exit the Great Hall. It was still too soon for him to be fully comfortable in the Hall, the site of so many joys, losses and ultimately, great victory. He hurried towards the lake, desperate to be out of the stifling bustle of breakfast in the Hall and into the clear crispness of the spring day. He was too busy trying to bypass the crowds entering and exiting the Hall to notice that Malfoy, too, had gotten up from where he was sitting and was following Harry, rather subtly and rather far behind.

Harry broke into a run, sprinting for one of the doors that led to the outside. Being inside had become suffocating and vaguely claustrophobic. Harry couldn't control his discomfort any longer. No one tried to stop his escape- he was off the hook for the majority of the things he could do that would be considered "wrong" because of his role as the "Savior of the Wizarding World". Normally, Harry would be put off by this special treatment, but he had been feeling so altered that he didn't care. At least, he didn't care right now.

The front entrance to Hogwarts was huge and the door was far too heavy for Harry to open on his own, even in his weirdly agitated state. Luckily for him, there were several smaller, more discreet doors alongside the grand door, which was so showy that it was impractical. Harry regained enough peace of mind to slip out of one of the smaller side doors.

Malfoy rounded the corner in time to see Harry exiting the building. He paused for a moment, appearing to contemplate what would be gained by following Harry. He hadn't been standing there for long before he seemed to make a decision and swiftly followed Harry out of Hogwarts.

Harry stepped outside and took the first deep breath he'd taken since he'd been killed by Voldemort. For a May day, the air was rather crisp and cool, but it was relatively early in the morning. Perhaps it would warm up later, but for now it was just the rejuvenating jolt Harry needed. It took quite a lot out of a man, Harry thought, this dying and being resurrected stuff.

There was a bit of a bite in the air, but the sun was out and the sky was clear. The cloud of Voldemort's reign had been lifted and the environment around Hogwarts reflected that beautifully. The surface of the lake was calm, too, belying the conflicting emotions churning and swirling in Harry's stomach. He was so confused by this sudden surge of interest in Draco Malfoy- he had no right to think of the other boy this way- he had a girlfriend, but most importantly, he was not in the right headspace to make sense of any emotions more basic than anger, hunger and the need for sleep. As much as he regretted the continuance of his relationship with Ginny, and no matter how increasingly attracted he was to Draco (there, he said it, he was attracted to Draco Malfoy), the rational side of him knew not to do anything drastic that he might regret even more later.

Draco had been following quietly behind Harry, content to just watch the dark haired wizard go about his business. He had gotten very good at silently stalking around the castle during his sixth year, when he smuggled (successfully!) many Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Draco stopped walking as Harry stopped, apparently transfixed by something in the lake.

There was something moving, glowing, pulsating in the lake. Harry had never seen anything so beautifully enticing in his entire life. It shimmered and beckoned to him, calling him closer. Its uncertain outline was hypnotizingly ever changing and he felt himself getting lost in it. Harry was mesmerized. It whispered to him in the same tongue as the snakes in his dream had.

"_There is love here. All that you love, all that you've lost. Join me and you will never be without the love you've so recently forgotten,_" The voices chanted. Harry swerved closer to the edge of the lake. On a normal day, harry would not have so mindlessly followed a hissing, writhing, shining orb into the very deepest part of the Hogwarts lake, but his mind was already so fucked up from dying and being given the _choice_ to return - maybe that's why he was called the Chosen One, he'd have to make the hardest choice, oblivion or the possibility of happiness- his recent losses, the echo of losses from the past and the added pressure of his new found fascination with Draco Malfoy that it took very little persuasion for him to let go. Harry was already trying so hard to escape all of the new thoughts bombarding him that when given the slightest encouragement, his mind ran away cackling, leaving his body walking stiffly towards the lake.

It was a wonder he hadn't cracked sooner.

Harry felt calm and warm. Kind of fuzzy. It wasn't like being under the Imperius Curse at all, so he didn't fight it. What was the point, if it wasn't harmful? It was a safer feeling, and less mindless- it was like having his brain taken out and wrapped in a llama wool scarf- he liked it, this not caring thing. Harry wanted to follow the voices that spoke in Parseltongue, it was a good idea to walk in the lake. Perhaps his parents would be there waiting for him. He didn't even suspect something was wrong until he hit the water with a resounding splash.

It took him a moment to wake up and realize where he was. The water was cold and dark and there was something wrapped around his leg, pulling him down. He kicked and flailed against the water, trying in vain to propel himself upwards, but all he managed to do was get more tangled in his swirling robes. All he could think- as the darkness of the water invaded his vision and blackness permeated his blurry sight- was; _I survive being cursed by Voldemort multiple times and drown and die like any old Muggle._

The darkness had almost entirely swallowed him when he felt a strong arm encircle his torso and he began to be hauled to the surface. Harry couldn't see who his rescuer was, didn't think that anyone was there, anyway- hadn't he been alone when he left? There would be time to figure that out later (thank Merlin there was going to be a later), but now Harry was past thinking. His savior pulled him free from whatever was holding him down and Harry fell into unconsciousness. He could only hope that he would wake up.

**Author's note: **A big thank you to anyone reading this! I hope you enjoy/ continue to enjoy this. An even larger and more heartfelt thank you to my lovely, patient beta, Thalia, aka dansnips. You are beautiful.

You are all fabulous for reading- and be forewarned- this is Draco/Harry- this is slash, and it will get slashier. Thank you!


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